


The thing is...

by bsmog



Series: A boy, a girl, another boy, their kids, and a farmhouse [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Clint Needs a Hug, Confused Clint Barton, Laura needs a lot of hugs, Multi, Natasha Is a Good Bro, Phil Needs a Hug, Pining, The Author Regrets Nothing, Unconventional Relationship, clint has a lot of feelings, m/m/f, pre-AOU, pre-getting together as a family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-10 08:44:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5578969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bsmog/pseuds/bsmog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>First, there was Clint and Laura. Then, there was Barton and Coulson. And then, things get a little blurry. This is the story of the blurry bits.</p>
<p>Or, before there was a boy and a girl and another boy and their kids in a farmhouse, there were a lot of feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The thing is...

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prequel to 'In the farmhouse things will be alright,' but it doesn't have to be read in that order. I like this 'verse, so I've decided to make myself comfy. Maybe build a blanket fort and get a stash of donuts and beer and pizza. What, I've got simple tastes.
> 
> Still no warnings, but I'll say the same thing here I said the last time. Clint and Laura are happily married; if you aren't a Laura Barton fan, this may not be up your alley.
> 
> Thanks as always to sapphirescribe for the encouragement, clean-up (remaining messes are all mine), and plot unsticking. And there was a lot of unsticking, y'all. A lot. 
> 
> Marvel's sandbox, I'm still just playing in it. I've picked out this nice corner over here where I'm not bothering anyone, so hopefully they won't mind that I'm twisting their characters to fit the way I think canon is working behind the scenes.

The thing is…  
****  
The thing…  
****  
No, you know what? There’s no thing. The thing isn’t anything. The thing is that Clint’s fucking life is all about things that are, and yet he always ends up in some stupid, shitty situation where he’s standing there with his hand on the back of his head and a bandage on his nose and his t-shirt in tatters saying, “The thing is…”  
****  
But this? This isn’t a thing. This isn’t a whole quiver full of things. This…  
****  
Okay. This looks bad.   
****  
Fine. So if there  _ was _ a thing, it’d be that when your job is with S.H.I.E.L.D., even with a wife at home, no one tells you that the people you work with will be your family. Sometimes closer than your family. You worry about them. You protect them. You put your life on the line for them, and they do the same for you, and you never once think to do otherwise—unless it’s that dickbag Rumlow, Clint’s never liked that asshole—no matter the consequences. They’re like the brothers and sisters you never had, the older ones watching your ass and the younger ones needing you to teach them right from wrong. And sometimes…  
****  
Well, the thing is, sometimes it’s more than that.   
****  
~*~  
****  
When Clint looks back on it later—much later, so much later that he has company in laughing about it—he admits he was a little bit gone on Phil Coulson from the moment he laid eyes on the man. No one should be able to make a suit look that good on their best day, much less on a day where said suit is splattered in blood and other unsavory substances that used to belong inside the baddie he just single-handedly dispatched without even spilling his coffee. At the time, Clint chalked it up to hero-worship and a competence kink that he’s never tried to hide; getting shit done is sexy, that’s just all there is to it. But then again at the time, he just thought that Coulson was something different in an agency full of the same.   
****  
He remembers going home to Laura that first day, telling her about this senior agent he’d finally gotten to meet, talking animatedly about how the guy never lost his cool, never raised his voice, just...got shit done and got on with his day.   
****  
And that’s always been Phil’s professional reputation in a nutshell: get in, get out, and get on your way, and don’t forget to tip the entertainment, because they’re flawless as always.    
****  
He lost count of how many nights after that his stories were full of Coulson this and Phil that; Nat didn’t help matters, she loved the man just as much as Clint, if not in the same way, and they were like overeager children back in those days. The two misfits of S.H.I.E.L.D., suddenly the envy of the place because their handler was the badass to end all badasses. Nat was the reason Clint tamped down his fears about six months after they all started working together and told Phil about Laura. He still shudders at how awkward he made that conversation, but Phil, being Phil, just took it all in stride.  
****  
“A wife?”   
****  
“Yes, sir.”  
****  
“You put an appointment on my calendar—something I didn’t even know you knew how to do, by the way, since you never seem to pay any attention to the ones on yours—so you could come into my office and tell me you’re married?”  
****  
Phil’s face was somewhere between incredulous and amused. Clint poked the toe of his boot into the frayed line of carpet in front of Phil’s desk—and yes, fine, okay, it was frayed  _ because _ of Clint’s tendency to scuff his boot there when he was avoiding something—and studiously tried not to look into Phil’s eyes. He jerked his chin in some semblance of a nod.  
****  
“Barton.” Phil sighed and cleared his throat. “Clint.”  
****  
Clint looked up then, because that wasn’t Agent Coulson’s voice. That voice was just Phil, only back then Clint didn’t know that voice so well, and the kindness in it was so unexpected he could hardly speak.  
****  
“The thing-” Clint coughed, because damn, his voice was raspy all of a sudden. “The thing is, sir, I wanted to keep Laura and me off the books. Fury knows, and Nat, but no one else. You gotta be the job, and who the hell’s gonna trust the guy with a wife at home on an op?”  
****  
Phil’s eyes were steady and calm, he didn’t even so much as blink.  
****  
“Some people around here might say the guy with the wife at home has more to live for,” he said, voice still calm and kind, and Clint had smiled.   
****  
“And some people around here say family’s a distraction. Sir.”  
****  
“So which is it, then?”   
****  
Clint looked at him long and hard, looking for any sign of mocking or derision in the question, but there wasn’t any. Just honest interest in how Clint was going to play this one out.  
****  
“Neither,” he finally said. “She’s just part of who I am now. I woke up one morning and realized I thought of her as often as I thought about myself, but it meant I spent less time worrying about myself, not more time worrying about us both. I want to come home from an op for her, but I wanted to come home just as bad when I was out fucking around and it was just me out there.”  
****  
Phil nodded. “And the distraction?”  
****  
Clint shrugged.   
****  
“I’m not so easily distracted, sir. You know that.”  
****  
Phil smiled. It was an easy smile that went all the way to his eyes.   
****  
“I do. So what you’re telling me is that all the people around here who have opinions about guys with wives on their ops are full of shit?”  
****  
Clint still isn’t sure if it was the line or the smile, but he finally laid off kicking Phil’s carpet and flopped down on the chair across from Phil, all the tension running out of him. He couldn’t even remember why he was so worked up about telling Phil about Laura to begin with, now that they were here.   
****  
“I’m telling you I’m married, that it won’t be a problem in the field, and that my wife would like to meet the famous Agent Coulson, so are you free for dinner with us and Nat on Sunday?”  
****  
Okay, that last part might have been a bit of a lie, but he’d just managed to tell only the third person at the place he’d been working for years that he had a wife. Sue him for wanting to maybe enjoy that a little.   
****  
Phil looked at him for a long moment, but Clint still distinctly remembers not being nervous, because that smile was still on his face. Finally he shrugged.   
****  
“As long as Agent Romanov isn’t doing the cooking.”  
****  
Clint snorted. He had a point; Nat always had many,  _ many  _ skills, but the woman could burn water.  _ Had _ burned water, more than once. She could ruin reheated pizza, and Clint wasn’t sure how the hell that was even possible.   
****  
“Laura’s known Nat a long time, and I just finished some work in the kitchen. I’m not sure Nat’s even allowed past the counter anymore.”  
****  
“You have a wife  _ and _ you do home repairs?” Phil’s eyes went huge and he clutched his chest—which used to be a lot funnier before all the shit they’ve both seen at S.H.I.E.L.D, by the way. “Why Agent Barton, it’s like I don’t even know you.”  
****  
Clint rolled his eyes.   
****  
“I’ll text you the address. Doesn’t matter what time, we try to keep things pretty casual on Sundays.”  
****  
Phil nodded, and there was still a shadow of a smile on his face.  
****  
“Thanks,” he said.   
****  
Clint waved him off. “Don’t thank me yet, you’ll probably get a million questions about what you do when you’re not at work, and that’s just Nat. She’s chatty outside of this place.”  
****  
Phil laughed. “Not what I meant, but good to know. Thanks for telling me. About Laura.”  
****  
Clint ducked his head and scrubbed his hand through the back of his hair. He needed a haircut. Maybe Laura’d take pity on him and cut it before Phil showed up for dinner.   
****  
“Yeah, well,” he said, and okay, he was stalling. “Seems kinda stupid that you’ve saved my life about a hundred times—which Laura will probably hug you for, by the way, she’s kind of a hugger—but I never told you why that was so damn important.”  
****  
“I did all that because it’s my job, and because I don’t want anything to happen to you,” Phil said, voice and face suddenly serious. “Didn’t matter to me if you had a wife or a husband or four kids and a gerbil, or if you just had a dehydrated house plant and a science experiment growing in your fridge, you’ll always get home if I have anything to do with it.”  
****  
Clint blushed, although he didn’t know why at the time, but he quirked the left side of his mouth up at Phil.  
****  
“Yeah, I know. ‘t’s why you gotta meet Laura. You two sound a lot alike sometimes.”  
****  
“I look forward to it.”  
****  
They were quiet then, although not awkwardly so, but Clint figured he’d said what he came for and more, and it’d turned out better than he expected. Besides, he had to go call his wife and make sure she didn’t mind company for dinner on Sunday.   
****  
Shit.   
****  
He grinned at Phil on his way out.   
****  
“See you Sunday, sir.”  
****  
~*~  
****  
Dinner was, of course, a smashing success. Partly because at the time, it was really just dinner with basically Clint’s three favorite people on the planet. Phil harassed Clint about his remodeling habits, brought flowers for Laura and scotch for Natasha, and made himself comfortable almost immediately in such an unsuspecting way that if Clint thinks about it now, he figures he should have known from that moment that things would end up where they have. He and Laura hit it off straight away, just as soon as Phil caught sight of the cello case in the corner and asked her if she played.   
****  
Nothing got Laura talking faster than questions about her past life in the symphony, or about the kids she still gave lessons to. All the while Clint just beamed, because of course Phil knew about string instruments and symphonies and concertos and Dvorak and Bach’s Cello Suite, and damn if he could remember why he ever thought this wasn’t a good idea.   
****  
And with very little fanfare, it turned into a tradition. Dinner at the Bartons’ on Sunday afternoon as long as they weren’t on a mission or in medical, and even then, if two of them were home, dinner went on. By the time the next fall came around, Phil would turn up just after noon with a six pack of beer and flop on the sofa, because Clint had better tv reception and Phil liked to shout at whatever football or baseball game happened to be on with company, it turned out. Clint usually sat with him, because who  _ doesn’t _ love an excuse to spend the whole damn day on the couch drinking beer and swearing and generally enjoying not being shot at for a while.   
****  
Laura always joined them, especially after the day she’d wandered into the living room, stolen Clint’s beer, and started muttering about Crash Davis being right about outlawing the fucking designated hitter. Phil, who hadn’t yet learned that Clint’s wife was a not-so-closeted sports junkie, choked so hard on his beer that Clint thought he might have to go to medical. But once he got his breath back, he launched straight into his argument for the DH.   
****  
That was the only time Clint can remember that they ordered takeout on a Sunday, because the argument got so heated that no one noticed dinner burning until the smoke alarms went off. Natasha held that one over their heads for months.   
****  
Missions were easier, too. Clint didn’t feel like he was pulling any punches anymore; he liked that when it was just the three of them in the field, he wasn’t lugging around this huge secret. No watching what he said, either on comms or off. It was comfortable. Easy. Predictable.   
****  
Safe.   
****  
Which is why he should have known better.   
****  
But the thing is, Clint never was very good at knowing better.   
****  
~*~  
****  
Clint always hated missions without Phil, even when they were just Barton and Coulson. Phil was funny on comms—most people didn’t think Phil could be funny, but really it was just a matter of understanding that some people’s humor didn’t come out and punch you in the damn face. Phil was the only person Clint knew who managed to break Natasha’s calm on comms, actually. It was just the once, and she was a little delirious from lack of sleep, but he took deadpan to a new level on that mission, and that’s how Clint and Phil became the only two people on earth to know that Natasha Romanov snorts very indelicately when she laughs unexpectedly.  
****  
They were, of course, threatened with long, slow, painful deaths if they ever told anyone else.   
****  
Anyway. The thing about Phil-less missions is that they meant another handler. And despite the fact that Clint and Natasha (and Phil) had the highest mission success rate at S.H.I.E.L.D., most of the other handlers fell into the lazy-ass assumption that their two-dimensional, bullshit reputations—carnie fuck-up and soulless bitch—were accurate, and they got treated that way.  
****  
But the last mission was a doozy, and Clint didn’t even want to try to remember the details. He had six broken ribs, second degree burns on his back and fiftieth degree road rash on his front, he was pretty sure two of his teeth would have to be replaced, he definitely had a goddamn concussion, and he was pretty sure that when all the rest of the pain subsided he’d find that he also had a hell of a sprained ankle.   
****  
All because his fucking handler wouldn’t listen when he said the building he was stationed on was unstable, and could he please find an alternate vantage point, sir?  
****  
It was a very small consolation that Nat had to be restrained from beating the shit out of the guy once they dug Clint out of the rubble—aw, building—and confirmed that he was alive. And maybe a slightly larger one that the asshat was on indefinite leave, put there by Fury himself. He’d stormed out of his office with Phil at his six, and they both had undisguised rage in their eyes as they approached the jet, standing aside so medical could load Clint onto a stretcher but making no secret that this was Smith’s—Smithers’? Withers’? Fuck if Clint even remembered the guy’s fucking name, and he might have blamed the concussion, but really, he was just too much of an asshole to bother. Anyway, they made no secret that it was his last mission for a very, very long time.   
****  
He may have been reassigned to Antarctica. Or Siberia. Clint didn’t much care, as long as he never laid eyes on the guy again.   
****  
Besides, he had bigger problems.   
****  
“Are you coming in, or are you going to stand out there until you fall down and break another rib?”  
****  
Laura’s voice was calm and measured, floating through the open window next to the door. He knew that meant she’d been sitting in the family room, probably with a stool aimed towards the door and her cello propped between her knees. She always played when she was nervous. Took the edge off, she said. Gave her something to do.   
****  
He also knew that tone, though. It meant she was barely holding it together. That she’d been worried—no, scared as hell—and that it was worse because no one called her, even to tell her he was in medical or give her the rundown of all the shit that happened to him, because the only way to keep her off the books was to keep her  _ off the books _ , so she couldn’t even pretend she was some kind of made-up next-of-kin for the sake of a goddamn call from medical. So when Clint’s estimated return date came and went without bringing him through the door, she knew something wasn’t right, but she just had to...wait...  
****  
Fuck.   
****  
She opened the door before he could, and he felt the once-over before he even saw it, but he didn’t miss seeing her eyes well up with tears when they made their way back to his face.   
****  
“Damn it,” she said, voice breaking.   
****  
“Oh, hey, no,” he said softly and held out his arm to pull her into the side that wasn’t riddled with cracked ribs. “C’mon, I’m here, it’s okay.”  
****  
She pressed herself softly, so softly against his side, and he buried his face in her hair, cuts and scrapes be damned.   
****  
“I’ll be good as new before you know it. Doc said so.”  
****  
She sniffled.   
****  
“Phil called.”  
****  
And oh, that was new.   
****  
“Then you know I’ll be good as new.” He was hedging, because if Phil called, she knew everything, and Clint really didn’t want to talk about  _ everything _ right now, even if it did mean he could stop trying to figure out how to get someone to call his fucking wife and tell her he was okay on missions from here on out because Phil was awesome like that.  _ Everything _ was hard. And he fucking hurt too much to deal with hard.  
****  
He must have swayed a little, because Laura sniffed and shook her head.   
****  
“What’s the matter with me? Come sit down before you fall down, c’mon.”  
****  
She prodded at him—again, so softly—and he sunk into the sofa cushions with a grateful, pained groan. He still held out his arm though, and Laura wasted no time curling against his side.   
****  
“He wasn’t with you.”  
****  
Clint had to think about that a minute—fucking concussion—before he could string it back to Phil.   
****  
“Nope, different handler for this one. Don’t think I’ll be working with that one again, though.”  
****  
“Phil said-” She stopped and let out a little, raspy laugh. “Phil said if he got thirty seconds alone with the guy, he’d kill him.”  
****  
“Phil doesn’t need thirty seconds to kill a guy,” Clint said, almost automatically, but he was secretly pleased.   
****  
“You could have  _ died _ ,” she said.   
****  
It was almost a whisper.   
****  
“I could die every time I go on a mission, baby, you know that.”  
****  
He kissed the top of her head as she nodded.   
****  
“I know, and I always worry, it’s just…”   
****  
She let the pause hang for a while, and Clint could feel the front of his shirt getting slowly wet with tears. Fuck. He hated this part of the job, hated that she worried, that she thought he wasn’t safe, that he hurt her when he left, that-  
****  
“I know you’re okay when you’re with Phil and Nat,” she finally finished.   
****  
Clint blinked.   
****  
“Not...not that you and Nat aren’t great together on your own, that’s not what I meant, but Phil…”  
****  
Clint let the corner of his mouth curve up—ouch, goddamnit, there was apparently a cut there he didn’t know about—and he stroked her hair.   
****  
“Makes sure we come back in as few pieces as possible?”  
****  
She sniffled again, then sat back and looked up into his face, and god, was she the most beautiful sight his sore eyes had ever seen, even redfaced and snotty and tear-soaked.   
****  
“He makes sure you come back at all.”  
****  
There was no waver in her voice for that moment, and Clint was a little blown away by her absolute confidence in a man she’d only known a few months.   
****  
Then again, Phil had been making sure Clint came home for a lot longer than he’d been coming to dinner. Clint supposed this trust had been building up since long before their introduction.  
****  
He leaned in and kissed her, soft and slow and sweet, and oh, god, he’d missed her.   
****  
“I’m off missions for a couple months until all this shit heals up,” he said when he pulled away. “And when we’re back, we’re assigned to Phil exclusively. Fury signed the paperwork this morning.”  
****  
The first hint of a smile he’d seen since he came in the door finally crossed Laura’s face. She nodded.   
****  
“He mentioned that on the phone, too,” she said.   
****  
Of course he had. Of course Phil had a plan; Phil always had a plan, and Phil’s plans always revolved around making sure things were good for Clint and Nat. And catching the bad guys. He was really good at those plans.   
****  
“I’m sorry I couldn’t call,” Clint said. It was an afterthought, but a very real one. He always hated when anyone other than him got to Laura if a mission went bad.   
****  
She shook her head.   
****  
“I didn’t mind so much this time,” she said. “It was nice that it was a friend. Besides, he didn’t lie to me, or sugarcoat it. And it was a lot better than waiting for Nat to get patched up first or just...waiting.”  
****  
He winced. That was the thing about keeping your wife off the books; no one called when things went to shit. Only Fury or Nat up until now, and even then only when they weren’t as fucked up as he was, or somewhere halfway around the planet.  
****  
“I’ll make sure to ask that he call you from now on no matter what,” Clint said, because it’d make her feel better, and it was something he could do. And he knew Phil would do it, because apparently Phil even took it upon himself to call her when it  _ wasn’t _ Phil’s mission that went to hell in a rhinestone handbasket.  
****  
She kissed him.   
****  
“He said he’d do anything he could to make sure no one has to call from now on,” she said as she stood up and started fussing with the pillows on the couch and manhandling Clint until he let her pull of his boots and prop up his feet, and fuck did that ever feel good. Did he mention how much he loved her? “I like his way better.”  
****  
“That’s the thing about Phil,” Clint said as he let his head fall back onto the cushions and closed his eyes. “His way is always the best.”  
****  
~*~  
****  
“So…” Clint stood in Phil’s office about a year after that first dinner and about six months after he’d been cleared for active duty after the last building collapse. He was aching and probably still bleeding, not quite sure what it was he was supposed to say after the spectacular fuck-up he’d just made of their latest mission. He sucked in a deep breath. “So, here’s the thing, I’m really sorry about...all that,” he waved a hand behind him in the direction he thinks the jet landed from. “But, uh. Yeah. Laura’s pregnant.”  
****  
Phil, who was writing out a mission report—and if it was for the one they just came back from, it probably said something like, “And then that dumbass Barton jumped off yet another building, which usually goes okay for him, except this was a shed in the middle of bumblefuck and he jumped into a pile of barbed wire, so we’re considering drowning him in a vat of tetanus vaccine because we don’t think the one shot will be enough. Oh, and he killed the bad guy,”—didn’t even look up. And okay, fine, Clint kind of just wandered in and didn’t have much in the way of preamble, and yes, he totally did jump on the pile of barbed wire— _ fucking ow— _ but this was kind of big. He was hoping for at least a raised eyebrow. Maybe a squiggle in Phil’s perfect fucking penmanship.  
****  
But no. Nothing.  
****  
“Damn it, Phil, did you hear me?”  
****  
Phil sighed, set his pen down, and lifted his eyes.   
****  
“Laura’s pregnant, yes, I heard you. It would have been hard not to hear you, considering you just ran into my office like the hallway was on fire and blurted it out.”  
****  
Clint ducked his head, because yeah, he kinda did do that.   
****  
“It’s customary to say congratulations at a time like this, and I’m pretty sure you both  _ wanted _ it to happen, but considering the shouting wasn’t accompanied by a smile, I’m not sure what you want me to say here.”  
****  
Clint looked up into that kind, patient face and really considered breaking down and crying like a baby, and if he swipes at his eyes for a second, well, there was dust around that fucking shed, okay?  
****  
“Look,” Phil went on, “if you’re marching in here like it’s a death sentence because you realized you were distracted today and now you look like a barnyard pincushion, well. You’re human.”  
****  
“I fucked up.”  
****  
Phil eyed him.   
****  
“Honestly, and as your handler, it pains me to say it, you really didn’t. You did exactly what you were ordered to do. Mission successful.”  
****  
“But-”  
****  
“I wasn’t finished. My point is that even distracted, you only hurt yourself. And while I—and Laura, and your son or daughter, once he or she makes an appearance—much prefer you avoid that part, it’s nothing medical couldn’t handle, you’ll be fine, and in the end, no harm done.”  
****  
Clint just stared at him.   
****  
“As your friend, though, is it…” And there it was again, just Phil, instead of Agent Coulson. “I can’t say a lot of things for certain, contrary to popular opinion around here, but I know this: that’s one lucky kid.”  
****  
Well, fuck it. He did jump into barbed wire, and it did hurt. And he did manage to shut the door before his little...announcement. So if he let a couple of tears slip out, who was it really hurting?  
****  
“Thank you,” he whispered. “I don’t…”   
****  
He gulped in a huge breath, ragged and loud.   
****  
“I have no idea what the fuck to do. I can’t even keep myself out of medical on a fucking milk run, how the fuck am I gonna not fuck up a kid?”  
****  
There it was, really. He was nothing more than an overgrown child himself most of the time, Nat was always saying so, even if she meant it with love. He couldn’t possibly keep a child of his own safe.  
****  
Phil just sighed and stood, walked around his desk and stood in front of Clint, placed a firm, comforting hand on Clint’s shoulder—bonus points to Phil for avoiding the shoulder Clint fell on.  
****  
“You hurt yourself worse hanging those new cabinets in the guest bathroom.”   
****  
His voice was so kind, it almost made Clint want to cry harder, even as he smiled shakily. It was true; for all the fuck-ups he’s ever had in the field, he never saw Phil more pissed than when he’d smashed three of the fingers on his draw hand so badly he had to be casted for a month, not to mention the boot he had to wear on his right foot from where he dropped the fucking cabinet after he lost his grip with his smashed fingers.  
****  
He was out of the field for six weeks. Phil didn’t come over for Sunday dinner for the first three of those. It was one of the worst months in Clint’s recent memory.  
****  
“How’s Laura?”  
****  
Clint grinned in spite of himself and fiddled with his left ring finger, twirling the ghost of the ring that normally sat there when he wasn’t at S.H.I.E.L.D.   
****  
“Thrilled. Like, I know all that glowing while you’re pregnant bullshit is...well, bullshit, or whatever. But she hasn’t stopped smiling since we found out, just about.”  
****  
He looked up at Phil, who was smiling back at him, that easy smile that Clint saw so often on weekends.   
****  
“You know I don’t have advice on this particular topic, but I stand by what I said. That’ll be one damn lucky kid to have the two of you as parents.”  
****  
Clint nodded, because what the hell, Phil believed it. Who was he to doubt the famous Coulson conviction. He didn’t look too hard at how good Phil’s hand still felt on his shoulder, or how a few words could make him feel so much better so quickly, at least not at that moment.   
****  
“Don’t tell her I told you, okay?” Clint said as he stood—a little reluctantly—and headed back to the hallway door. “She’s pretty excited to tell you and Nat.”  
****  
Phil snorted.   
****  
“She’ll see right through me faking it, you know that.”  
****  
“Fucking figures that my wife’s a better spy than me,” Clint sighed, because it was true. Laura would know in a heartbeat. “Still…”  
****  
“I won’t say a word, but I’m ratting you out as soon as she catches on.”  
****  
They grinned at each other. When Clint opened the door, they both let their S.H.I.E.L.D. masks fall back into place; not that they pretended they weren’t close, the whole organization would have seen through that, and not because they were a bunch of spies at all. But there was something a little sacred about their friendship that stretched beyond the walls of HQ or the carrier that none of them wanted compromised by prying eyes.   
****  
Still.   
****  
“Hey, boss?” Clint turned at the door and caught Phil’s eye when he sat back down at his desk. “Thanks for—well. Y’know. Thank you.”  
****  
Phil let his mouth curve up for just a second.   
****  
“Congratulations, Barton.”  
****  
They held each other’s eyes for longer than was strictly necessary—something else Clint didn’t think too hard about until he was headed home—and Clint felt lighter than he had in weeks when he closed the door.   
****  
That was the thing about Phil. He always knew exactly what to say.  
****  
~*~  
****  
Except the thing about Phil knowing exactly what to say kind of wore on Clint after a while. Because he never knew anyone in his whole life who knew exactly what to say to him until years after he and Laura got together. Not even Nat, who always knew what he needed, but didn’t always say the right thing to him. It was one of the things he always loved about her, actually.   
****  
Although sometimes…  
****  
“What’s in your head?”  
****  
Clint looked at her as the jet bounced through some rough air and sighed. No sense in lying to her, she’d pry it out of him eventually. And he knew he wore distraction on his sleeve like a badge. Always had.   
****  
He scrubbed his hand through his hair.   
****  
“You’re stalling,” she said. It wasn’t an accusation, but she was right anyway.   
****  
He sighed again—probably a little dramatically, but hey, this living in your head shit was  _ hard _ , okay?—but he nodded. It was  _ Nat _ . He owed her that.   
****  
“I’m…” How the hell did he even start this conversation?   
****  
“Is this about Coulson?”  
****  
Fuck. Well. Fuck,  _ but _ . Because this was Nat. The super spy to end all super spies. She’d always known shit before Clint did, even when it was Clint’s shit to know. So...he just nodded and ducked his head and opened his mouth, not sure what the fuck would come out.   
****  
“I love Laura.”   
****  
Well. That was something at least. At least until Nat narrowed her eyes.   
****  
“Did you think I didn’t know that, or are you still stalling?”  
****  
He didn’t tell her to fuck off, but only barely. He wanted to. He knew she was goading him, but fuck, she earned the right to goad him over the years. He always was kind of an asshole.  
****  
“Let’s uh...let’s say you knew someone, and that someone was really happily married and like, completely in love with his wife.”  
****  
Nat rolled her eyes, but she didn’t stab him or punch him in the face, so he took that as a sign to go on.   
****  
“Could, um, I mean, d’you think that person could still have, um?”   
****  
He sucked in a deep breath because why the fuck was this so hard to put into words? Nat elbowed him in the ribs. Not a good sign. Probably meant stabbing was imminent. Okay.   
****  
“IthinkIhaveacrushonCoulson.”  
****  
And huh. If he thought Nat was rolling her eyes before, he might have had to spend some time reevaluating his definition of an eye roll. She threw another elbow to his ribs and smacked him in the back of the head for good measure as she stood and reached for her parachute.   
****  
Right. The op.   
****  
“You insult me if you think that’s news,” she said, raising her voice as the jet’s rear door slowly began to open.  
****  
“No, I mean, wait. What?”   
****  
He was shouting, but fuck it, no one would hear them over the engines and the roaring of the air. How the fuck did Nat know?  _ He _ didn’t even know until not all that long ago, when it started occurring to him that he spent more time than was strictly healthy finding excuses to walk past Phil’s office or end up in the same meetings.  
****  
He hadn’t done that since he caught sight of this beautiful woman one day years ago, standing at a bus stop with a cup of coffee in one hand and a cello case in the other, and she’d smiled at him when she caught his eye, and he was lost.   
****  
A month later, when Laura’d realized he had no reason to be on her bus except that he always hoped she’d be on it too, she’d showed up with two cups of coffee balanced precariously in a carrier in the hand not bracing the cello case, and that smile’d been all it took to turn Clint’s insides to mush ever since.   
****  
That, and the sound of cello music.   
****  
The point was, he knew what a crush was, and he knew that sitting through open briefings just because Phil was there was  _ not _ something he normally would have done. So, yeah. Crush. But also married, and expecting a baby. And  _ married _ .   
****  
“I’m a spy, if I’d missed that, S.H.I.E.L.D. should fire me,” Nat shouted over the din. “Although I’m not sure  _ crush _ is the word I’d have used.”  
****  
And then, before he could ask her what she meant, she turned and leapt from the plane, and he had no choice but to strap on his own chute, mind whirling.   
****  
He sighed and looked at the gaping maw of sky below. That was the thing with Nat: just when you thought you might be on the same page, she’d get the jump on you.   
****  
Sometimes literally.  
****  
~*~  
****  
It was all downhill from there. Like...full-scale, no-holds-barred, death-spiral downhill. Clint couldn’t remember how to act like a normal human being, or a husband, or a goddamn S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, either. His not-crush—Natasha always was good at cognitive recalibration, physical or otherwise—became a borderline obsession. He sat through briefings and tried to figure out if he’d always known Phil was annoyed because that  _ one _ line that curved off the right side of his mouth became more pronounced, or if that was one of those new, weird, I’m-inappropriately-attracted-to-my-boss things that seemed to be going through his mind a lot of late.   
****  
He sat at the dinner table and wondered what the fuck was wrong with him that he had this beautiful, kind, funny, smart,  _ very pregnant _ wife, and yet he couldn’t get through a single fucking thought without some kind of  _ Phil _ moment.   
****  
And Sundays? Well. Sundays were a special kind of hell that Clint thought was reserved for child molesters and people who talk at the theater. Because if there’s something life never prepared him for, it was the sight of his wife and his best friend/boss/handler/inappropriate crush laughing themselves to tears in his kitchen over something one of Laura’s students said the other day. Or watching Phil set the table like it was his own, catching Clint’s eye or sliding behind Laura next to the counter as though he’d always been there. As though he belonged there.   
****  
Or trying to understand how it was that watching Laura kiss Phil’s cheek and tell him to be careful before they went off on some crazy ass mission with the same worried look on her face she usually kept reserved for Clint didn’t make him jealous. Because it didn’t. It made him  _ happy _ . And what in the everloving fuck was that about?  
****  
And Nat was no help; she’d been over the past few Sundays, but she’d been uncharacteristically quiet. Watching. As if he wasn’t unnerved enough.  
****  
“Your murderface is showing,” she said to him one day as she pulled out the chair across from his in the carrier’s mess hall.   
****  
“I always look like this,” he said without thinking, because really, he’d heard it before about a million times. And no, smiling didn’t help sometimes. He just...looked like that.   
****  
Nat snorted and reached across the table to pick through the cooling pile of french fries in front of him. She always liked the crispy ones.   
****  
He sighed and pushed the whole plate towards her.   
****  
“Have at it, ‘m not that hungry.”   
****  
He put his head down on the table. Pathetic? Yes. But trying to figure out his own life was suddenly and unexpectedly far too complicated. He was a goddamn assassin. Life was supposed to be simple. Sit in high places. Watch for bad guys. Shoot bad guys. Go home. Lather, rinse, repeat. Not complicated. Clint didn’t like complicated.  
****  
He was surprised to feel Nat’s hand rest softly on the back of his neck. So surprised that he decided not to comment on the fact that he probably had french fry grease in his hair. He was an asshole, but he wasn’t stupid.   
****  
“Family doesn’t always look the way you think it should,” she said.   
****  
He lifted his head. He was pretty sure his murderface—fucking hell, he really did have one—was now replaced by his what-the-fuck face, but just in case…  
****  
“Huh?”  
****  
Nat’s expression was a strange mix of amusement, sympathy, and what Clint thought was actually legitimate concern. And that last one unnerved him. She took a deep breath.  
****  
“I’ve always told you love is for children, yes?”  
****  
Clint rolled his eyes and nodded, because this was one argument he would never give up on. He wasn’t good at a lot of things, but love? Love he could do. And he always started with the same list. He loved  _ her _ , and she knew it. And he usually needled her about how sad she’d be if he stopped one day, but since he wasn’t a  _ child _ , he figured he could keep it up a little longer.   
****  
And he loved Laura, and there wasn’t any denying that, any more than there was any denying that Laura loved him, and that he was a better person for it. Which was usually enough to shut her up, because she’d been sitting in the Bartons’ living room for too many years not to have to give into that one.   
****  
“It is, at least in that it’s simple. Basic. Naive, really. Don’t roll your eyes at me, I’m getting somewhere with this and if I have to put your eyes out with that fork, it’s going to take me longer to get the point across.”  
****  
He didn’t roll his eyes again, but only barely. Mostly because he was pretty sure she both could and would put his eyes out with the bent plastic fork on his plate.  
****  
“Love is for children, but that doesn’t mean you always choose who you love, or when or how you love them. It happens, whether you want it to or not.”  
****  
Clint reaffixed his what-the-fuck face without thinking about it. She flicked his earlobe.  
****  
“You also can’t choose how those people will react to you loving them. Or to you loving someone else. But you probably owe it to yourself and the people you love to figure it out one way or the other. Before you go crazy or get hurt or killed, because if you think I haven’t noticed you slipping on missions, you’ve got another think coming.”  
****  
He tried to look like he understood what she was saying. Truth was, he had no fucking clue. She sighed. Must have been the confused face again. She rested her hand on his knee under the table.  
****  
“I’ve spent more time with you than anyone I’ve ever spent time with in my life,” she said. “You saved my life, bringing me here. Trusting me. For longer than I care to admit—my reputation would be ruined—I’ve cared more about you than anyone I’ve ever known. So when I tell you to talk to your wife about the fact that you’re in love with Coulson, I want you to know I’m telling you that with your best interest in mind.”  
****  
Clint liked to think he was a relatively self-aware man, but until that very moment, he didn’t know he had more than one what-the-fuck face. Turned out he did. He really did.  
****  
“The fuck are you talking-?” he spluttered. “In love-?” Turned out he couldn’t finish a damn sentence, either. “You want me to-?”  
****  
Nat let one side of her mouth curl up, but it was gentle instead of mocking.   
****  
“Families don’t always look the way you think they should,” she said again. “Doesn’t mean they can’t be a family.”  
****  
She stood up and brushed salt off her hands, then gently ran one of them over the top of his head.   
****  
“The thing is, sometimes people want the same things, they just don’t know how to get them. Talk to Laura. Or Phil. Or both. Before you get yourself killed and no one gets what they want.”  
****  
He still hadn’t managed to form a full sentence by the time she’d walked all the way across the mess hall and into the corridor.   
****  
The thing was, he wasn’t speechless because she was out of line. He was speechless because she was right.   
****  
Well, fuck.  
****  
~*~  
****  
The thing about panic was that whatever Clint was panicking about at any given time was always the biggest thing in his life, right up until his life decided to give him something bigger and scarier to panic about. He barely had time to actually consider the idea that he was in love with Phil—and oh fucking fuck was that ever big and scary and what the fuck?—when his burner phone buzzed one day during an op.   
****  
And then Phil’s burner phone buzzed, and he supposed later he’d have to consider how he felt about the fact that Phil  _ had _ a burner phone for this particular circumstance, but first thing’s first. He took the sloppiest shot of his career (which he still made, of course) and made for their ride faster than he’d ever run in his life. He didn’t need the footfalls at his six to tell him Phil was right behind him.   
****  
He missed it, of course, because he’d known the second he’d taken this op that his dumb luck would be that Laura would go into labor and have the baby—holy fuck he had a  _ baby _ —while he was away. But he was driving her crazy, alternating between moping, because  _ Phil _ , and hovering, because  _ wife and baby _ , and she told him if he didn’t get the hell out of her house, she was going to leave instead and he’d never know what hospital she went to, only that it wouldn’t be the one in the plan.  
****  
And he knew Director Fury had a soft spot for Laura; when she said he’d never find her, that was actually possible.   
****  
So he missed his son’s birth, but he didn’t miss the look on Laura’s face when the nurse handed her a tiny bundle of pink skin and black fuzzy hair and blue blanket, and that was all it took. He was gone, a mess of tears and a stupid grin, frozen in Laura’s doorway and hopelessly in love and terrified all at once.   
****  
“We got tired of waiting for you to come home,” Laura whispered, and her smile outshone his, if that was possible. Christ, she looked beautiful. Tired and red-faced and he could see where there were tear tracks on her cheeks, but fucking gorgeous.  
****  
“I’ll just-”  
****  
Clint turned his head, and of course Phil was still with him. Phil was always with him, and this time was no different. But while Clint grinned—aw,  _ baby _ —and tried with limited success to wipe his face, Phil looked...wistful. Happy, for sure, because his smile went all the way to his eyes, but wistful. He turned and took a step away from the door back into the corridor before Clint caught his arm.  
****  
“Come meet him,” Clint said without even thinking.   
****  
And yeah, okay, maybe later if he thought it through, he should have had this moment with Laura and their son and introduced the family later, but eventually he’d look back on this moment and realize he was trying to tell himself something.   
****  
Phil hesitated for a second, and Clint wasn’t going to push, because that was his wife and kid across the room and he didn’t think he could stand to be so far away from them for another minute. He was at Laura’s side in three steps, face pressed into her hair and arm around her shoulders, but he only had eyes for the tiny person in her arms.   
****  
“Hiya, kid,” Clint whispered.   
****  
He put out a hand, but stopped it as it hovered over the baby’s— _ his son’s _ —tiny features.   
****  
“You won’t hurt him,” Laura said softly.   
****  
She turned her face up toward his and he tore his eyes away from the big, dark blue ones staring back at him for a moment.   
****  
“You’re so beautiful,” he said, because it was the first thing he could think to say, and because she was.  
****  
“I’m a mess,” she said, but her smile was even bigger and a tear slipped down her cheek.   
****  
Clint just shook his head and kissed her softly, then turning back to their son.   
****  
“You better not have been too hard on your mom, little one,” he said, and finally gave in and put his finger against his son’s tiny palm. He was rewarded with a fierce grip and an intent gaze, and holy shit, he was such a goner.   
****  
“Phil, come meet him, c’mon.”   
****  
Clint looked up at where Phil was still standing in the doorway, uncertainty warring with something that looked a damn sight like joy on his face.    
****  
“I’m intruding,” he said softly.  
****  
Clint opened his mouth to say otherwise, but Laura beat him to it, and Clint grinned.  
****  
“You spent as much time babyproofing our house as Clint and I combined. You listened to me read parenting books so many Sundays that you probably know more than we do, you built the damn crib while this one was in medical. You’re practically family for heaven’s sake. C’mon.”  
****  
Laura always did know what to say, and the next thing Clint knew, Phil was at Laura’s other side, pressing a kiss to her temple and congratulating them both, and it felt so strangely  _ right _ , that Clint had a fleeting thought that maybe this was what Nat had meant that day.  
****  
“You gonna tell me what you’re naming him now?” Phil asked, and the thought in Clint’s head disappeared as quickly as it arrived when he looked back down.   
****  
It’d been the one thing Laura insisted on: no one knew his name until he was born. Bad luck or superstition or maybe she just liked having a secret from Phil and Nat. She laughed and nudged Phil with her shoulder.   
****  
“If you’d ever asked my parents’ names, you’d have guessed.” She sniffled, but covered it with another laugh. “Getting rusty, super-spy.”  
****  
“Cooper,” Phil said, and both Clint and Laura looked up at him sharply. He smiled. “Your dad’s name was Cooper, and he taught you everything you know about both football and baseball, and you have his eyes, unless that picture on the wall halfway up the stairs is a fake, which I’m pretty sure it isn’t.”  
****  
“How-?”   
****  
Clint didn’t blame her for being confused, he knew they’d never talked about her parents with Phil, because Laura’s parents had also died in a car accident, but unlike Clint, she’d come from the kind of family everyone longed for. She’d never liked to talk about it, but when she did, it was clear she’d loved them more than life. And the pictures Phil saw, well, those made it clear that she’d been the apple of her father’s eye.   
****  
When they’d found out they were having a boy, there was no question what they’d call him.  
****  
Phil smiled softly.   
****  
“You don’t have to be a super spy to know a little bit about your friends’ lives. You don’t talk about them, but your home is filled with their memories. Wasn’t hard to piece together, I just didn’t want to pry.” He shrugged. “It’s a good name.”  
****  
Phil reached out and stroked the back of one knuckle across Cooper’s pink cheek. “Welcome to the world, Cooper Barton,” he said softly. “You are one lucky kid.”  
****  
Clint watched as Cooper reached out and clutched at Phil’s finger, laughed at Phil’s surprise at the strength in that little hand, smiled at his wife and brushed her hair out of her eyes before he kissed her again.  
****  
When Phil looked up at him and smiled that soft, warm smile, he didn’t think for a second about anything except that this was exactly how everything should be. He just smiled back and murmured, “He’s not the only one.”  
****  
~*~  
****  
The thing about parenthood that no one ever told Clint—or if they did, he didn’t listen, because he never thought he’d actually be a father, even right up until the moment he held Cooper in his arms—is that it didn’t matter how tough he thought he was before Laura had Cooper. He’d never been so tired in his whole life. And that was saying something, because he’d gone for days without sleep on missions before.   
****  
He’d been beaten, tortured, beaten more, deprived of both sleep and food—sometimes at the same time—interrogated under extreme duress. By large men. Armed ones.   
****  
If they’d known better, they would have left him with a colicky infant that didn’t believe in sleep schedules and had no regard for his parents’ sanity; he’d have cracked in a heartbeat.   
****  
His only consolation, he thought, was that Laura wasn’t faring any better. Not because he was cruel—frankly, it would have been nice if  _ one _ of them was getting some sleep—but because he always figured he’d fuck parenting up like a champ. Not like he’d had much in the way of role models, after all. But if Clint was tired, Laura was dead on her feet. So maybe all that torture was good for something after all.   
****  
At this very moment, though, he was basking in the relative silence of their living room, stretched out on the sofa with one arm hanging off the edge and the other flung over his eyes to block out the light. Hey, if the kid wasn’t gonna sleep nights, Clint would take his own sleep when he could get it, sun be damned.   
****  
It was a gorgeous quiet, too; not the kind that made him wake up and check the baby monitor for the ninth time because he was afraid something was wrong with Coop when he wasn’t making noise. Not the kind that came right before a squalling wail that, Clint was privately sure, shook the foundation of the house.   
****  
Damn good thing they’d moved into a house proper before Cooper was born; if they had shared walls and apartment neighbors, he’d be in front of some kind of building council pleading not to get thrown out at least once a day.  
****  
Anyway. Quiet. Right. Because Phil, who was apparently some sort of baby whisperer, showed up an hour ago and whisked Cooper out of the house in his carseat with orders not to worry. And Clint wasn’t worried, because Phil was maybe the most competent person he’d ever met in his life—he wasn’t thinking about how much of a turn-on that usually was, because it was too hard to be turned on while he was this fucking tired, and it was way too hard to be worried about Phil being the reason he would have otherwise been turned on,  _ especially _ because he was this fucking tired—and if he could keep Clint alive all these years, he probably would be just fine with a baby.  
****  
Besides, Cooper took to Phil from the start, that first day in the hospital. Of fucking course. Even his kid responds to Agent Coulson.   
****  
He heard Laura entering the room and held his arm out without opening his eyes. Predictably, she settled in next to him, curled into the space his body left, blended her edges with his until there weren’t any edges or hers or his, there was just them. He’d been clinging to  _ them _ a lot lately, when he was sure he was going to screw up this little person that some higher being he didn’t believe in decided  _ Clint Barton _ was fit to bring into the world and care for.   
****  
The very idea was good enough reason for Clint to believe there was no higher being. If there was, it’d know better than to give him responsibility for anything more sentient than a rock. The regular, garden variety kind, not something in a S.H.I.E.L.D. lab, either, because those fucking things were smarter than he was half the damn time.   
****  
Laura’s breath was even and soft against his neck, and her skin was warm, and he could have passed out right then and there, except…  
****  
“Something’s on your mind,” he mumbled. He was tired and sleep-deprived and more than a little stupid in the head, but he could feel a line of tension in her back, and her breathing was just a little  _ too _ even and measured, and he knew better. He knew  _ her _ .   
****  
She huffed.   
****  
“You always could tell,” she said. “Even in the beginning.”  
****  
He smiled, still not opening his eyes. She couldn’t be that mad, she wasn’t moving away. Also, he hadn’t done anything monumentally stupid lately. That he could remember. He tightened his arm around her side just in case, and was gratified when she scooted until she lined up even closer against him.   
****  
Not  _ too _ stupid, anyway, whatever it was. Phew.   
****  
“You’re an open book, hon,” he said softly and kissed her temple. “One of the things I love about you. No spy work necessary.”  
****  
She huffed again, this time closer to a laugh. They were quiet for a moment after that, but he was going to wait this one out. She was laughing, and he was fucking exhausted. If he said anything, he was likely to fuck it all up. Better to wait.   
****  
“You were happy, when Phil showed up,” Laura finally said.   
****  
Clint finally opened his eyes and lifted his eyebrows, because... _ huh _ ?  
****  
“Well, yeah,” he said, mind sort of jumbled and racing all at once. “I like Phil. You like Phil. Most importantly today,  _ Cooper _ , who doesn’t like me  _ at all _ and only likes you because you provide food, likes Phil. And when Cooper likes something, he’s quiet, and when he’s quiet, we get to sleep for a hot minute. So since our son likes Phil and I like sleep, yeah, I was pretty happy when Phil showed up.”  
****  
Laura snorted.   
****  
“Wait,” he said, “is this a test? Am I not supposed to be happy when someone else takes my kid? Should I be worried? Did I miss-”  
****  
“Shhhhh,” Laura hushed him, still laughing.   
****  
Thank fuck for that. She stopped shaking against his side and propped herself up on her elbow, looking down at him. Christ, she was so beautiful, even exhausted. He’d never stop thinking so, he swore it.   
****  
“Baby, I love you, and I don’t want you to apologize to me when I say this,” she said and Clint could feel his forehead creasing with worry and confusion even while she spoke.   
****  
It was like a damn reflex. Look freaked out, then process the words, then decide if the freakout is necessary or if he could just chalk it up to his resting murderface. But he kept quiet, because murderface was one thing. His stupid mouth was another. Laura took a big breath before she continued.   
****  
“You haven’t lit up around me like you did when Phil walked in since before Cooper was born.” And oh, fuck him, murderface wasn’t going to do it, this time. “You just about came to life when he walked in the door, and since we’re both zombies lately, that’s saying something. And I know he’s your friend—our friend, more than that, even—and I know you’re tired and overwhelmed and Cooper’s been hard, but…”  
****  
Clint was certain at this point he looked like a fish out of water. Not the cute, cartoony kind. The kind that were lying on a dock dying, hoping without knowing as much that someone would club them in the head and put them out of their misery. When did this become his life, and where the fuck was the rewind button?  
****  
“I-”  
****  
“Let me finish,” she said, voice smooth and calm and not at all as cold as he would have expected, so where the fuck this was going was anyone’s guess, but he was going to shut the fuck up because, yeah. “When I married you, I knew things would be hard. I knew they’d be different, that I’d compete with the job, with Nat, with other agents. With people you had to pretend to love for missions.”  
****  
Clint gulped, because those conversations had been hard and painful and something he’d been damn grateful to have in his past, right up until now.   
****  
“I knew you’d be gone for ages at a time and not be able to call. I knew you’d get hurt, that I couldn’t ask how or why or where, but that I’d still have to help you change bandages and watch you limp around the house. I knew all of that, and I married you anyway. I married you because I love you. Because you’re a good, kind, smart, funny man, the same one I fell for at the bus stop over a cup of coffee who didn’t know shit about cello music but who was willing to pretend. For me.   
****  
“I know everything about you there is to know that’s not locked in a file cabinet at S.H.I.E.L.D.,” she went on, and Clint couldn’t have said a damn word even if she’d let him, because he was too busy trying to figure out where the fuck all this came from and how he was going to respond when she finally wanted an answer to whatever her question was. “And I even know some of that, because you’re better at secrets than your handler’s ever been, and those of us who worry about you talk while you’re drugged up in medical.”  
****  
“Phil doesn’t-”  
****  
“Phil  _ does _ ,” she said firmly, tamping down his protest before it could even get all the way out. “He worries. He worries, and he knows I worry, and we’ve spent a lot of time and energy and liquor worrying over you, not that you were ever lucid enough to know so, and not that we’d tell you and make you feel guilty about it because that’s not what this is. We  _ care _ , okay?”  
****  
He nodded. What the fuck else was he supposed to do?   
****  
She took another deep, slow breath and closed her eyes for a minute. Clint could practically see her pulling her train of thought back onto the tracks. No spy work needed.   
****  
“The thing is, I’ve been watching you for years. I know what makes you light up. And Phil, he does that for you. He does. And I don’t know what that means for you, because I know I still do too, in my way. I know you love me. I know you love Cooper. I know you don’t just love me  _ because _ of Cooper, so don’t go where your head is taking you. The thing is, baby, I’m not afraid you don’t want  _ us _ anymore. I just don’t know if maybe  _ us _ isn’t enough.”  
****  
Well.   
****  
Okay.   
****  
Okay, this was bad. Or...yeah. No. This was...what the fuck was this? How the fuck…?  
****  
What. What?  
****  
“Breathe,” Laura said, her voice soft and smooth as silk.   
****  
She ran her hand over his face and only then did Clint realize that maybe he was freaking out a little. He wanted to sit up—no, he wanted to bury his head in the pillow—no, he wanted—goddamnit.   
****  
He sucked in a huge breath, trying to focus on anything except his racing heart.   
****  
So this is what a panic attack felt like. Fucking awesome. Seriously.   
****  
Laura waited. She waited and held his hand and smoothed her cool fingertips over his forehead and didn’t leave him or call him names or hate him or any of the things he thought his wife would do when she finally put voice to the fact that he was completely gone for his goddamn handler. Friend. Best friend. Whatever the fuck.   
****  
When he finally caught his breath and struggled to a sitting position on the couch, head down and shoulders slumped and no words to give her, which was so much less than she deserved, she said, “The thing is, I’m not asking you for anything except to think about what it means for you. And then think about what it means for us.”  
****  
He looked up at her through blurry eyes, and oh, hey, when did he start crying?  
****  
“I, um,” she started. And the fact that this was the first time in the whole conversation she’d stumbled caught his attention. “I talked to Nat.”  
****  
Oh.  _ Fuck _ .   
****  
“She didn’t tell me anything, in fact she seemed surprised I hadn’t brought this up with you before. Something about you and me and Phil seeming so…” She trailed off, but Clint could see a flush rising in her cheeks. “Anyway. She said...she said family doesn’t always…”  
****  
“Look the way you think it should,” he said, the words tumbling out automatically, because they’d played over and over in his head since his conversation with Nat in the mess.  
****  
Fucking Nat. Nothing if not consistent.   
****  
Laura smiled a little sadly and a little hopefully and a lot tiredly. And even her sad smile was still fucking beautiful. Clint hated himself for putting it there.   
****  
“You need to tell him,” she said, and held up her hand to silence him before he could get started. “You need to tell him he’s more to you than a friend and a babysitter and your boss. He’s more to me than those things too, in a different way, and you and I need to figure that out, but you need to tell him he means more to you than all that.”  
****  
Clint felt the tears slipping down his face. He had no idea what any of this meant, not for him, or for him and Laura, or for him and Phil, but he knew he was at a precipice and his wife was going to make him jump across it or throw him into it. There was no safe ground anymore.   
****  
She leaned in and kissed him softly, pushing his lips open with hers. It was so intimate it almost shocked him, in the wake of their conversation.   
****  
“I’m not going anywhere,” she said when she pulled away. Their mouths were so close he could feel the words ghost over his lips before they reached his ears. “I’ll be here when you’ve told him, and we’ll see after that. But he’s been too much to us to pretend everything is the same.”  
****  
Clint squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t nod or shake his head, and he didn’t try to argue. She was right, of course she was, and she wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t know. She was telling him things he’d tried very hard to pretend weren’t real, but nothing he didn’t know.   
****  
She pressed a soft kiss to his forehead and stood, brushing invisible lint from her pants and running a hand over her hair. He looked up into her face through hazy eyes, feeling wholly undeserving of the kindness and love that looked back at him, but grateful for it anyway.   
****  
“I love you,” he croaked, because he did, and because it was the only thing he could think to say that wasn’t stupid in that moment.   
****  
She smiled at him, not the tired, wan smile of the last few weeks or the patient, exasperated smile he brought on so often, but the real, true, genuine one she brought out for special occasions and no occasion at all. The one that warmed him from the ground up, that held him suspended in space and time and that said there wasn’t a single fucking thing in the world he wouldn’t do for her if she asked.   
****  
“I know,” she said. She leaned down and kissed him again, then turned and walked into the kitchen and out onto the back porch, leaving Clint with his thoughts and a million voices in his head.   
****  
That was the thing. It was one thing to know something was true. It was another thing entirely to do anything at all about it. Clint was a man of action, normally. But this? Well. This wasn’t so normal.   
****  
This called for action. But first, this called for liquid courage. And some words of wisdom.  
****  
He rolled himself up from the couch and fumbled for his phone, punching buttons with shaking fingers.   
****  
That was the thing about Nat. She could always be counted on for a bender and a pep talk, even though they were usually both accompanied by a blow to the head, in either the literal or metaphorical sense. And Clint was pretty sure he was suddenly desperate enough to need both.   
****  
Right the fuck now.  
****  
~*~  
****  
Clint didn’t even have to open his eyes to know he wished he was dead. His head was throbbing, his eyes were probably crusted shut, and his throat was so dry he felt like he’d swallowed fire.   
****  
Fucking hangovers were worse than anything that ever put him in medical. Not to mention no one would give him the good drugs for this; he’d brought this on himself.   
****  
Well. With Nat’s help. The woman wasn’t stingy with her pours. And for some reason she seemed to have taken pity on him last night; he suspected it had something to do with the catch in his voice and the redness of his eyes when he got to her place. He knew she’d called Laura at some stage, knew Laura filled in the important details that were all a blur in his still-sleep-deprived, now-completely-fucked-up mind.   
****  
Normally he’d go looking for the greasiest breakfast he could find, down it with a pot of coffee and more painkillers than should be permitted in one sitting, and then get on with his day.   
****  
The thing is, though, nothing about this day was going to be normal.   
****  
He sighed and dragged himself off Nat’s couch, barely managing not to fall over in the shower while he scrubbed at his skin with water so hot it was nearly scalding. He allowed himself two cups of coffee—Nat kept the good stuff and he needed a clearer head.   
****  
After that, though...well. There was nothing left to do but make his way to SHIELD and down the corridors to Phil’s office. It wasn’t that he was in a rush; quite the opposite. He’d have been happy to bury this like the emotionally stunted dumbass he had the reputation of being.   
****  
But his reputation was mostly built on bullshit—except for the world’s best marksman part—and frankly he wanted to be able to go home tonight. But, he knew if he walked into the house and told Laura he’d gotten drunk and avoided both her and Phil all day, she’d close the door in his face. And with good reason. She’d been the brave one yesterday, he couldn’t very well be a coward now.   
****  
Could he?  
****  
“You coming in, or just going to stand in the doorway all afternoon?”  
****  
Well. Nothing to do about it now, because of course Phil knew he was there, even though he’d never looked up from the stack of paperwork on his desk. Clint walked in and looked around for a moment, trying to figure out what the protocol was for a conversation like this, and then decided fuck it, his head hurt, he was exhausted, and Phil had more or less bought the squashy couch against the wall for him. He all but collapsed into the soft cushions and sighed. Swore. Okay, fine, both. His head  _ really  _ fucking hurt.   
****  
“Sorry I missed you last night,” Phil said, still not looking up. “Laura said something came up, everything alright?”  
****  
Right. Clint had all but run out the door and didn’t really think about what Laura would have told Phil when he brought Cooper back.   
****  
“Thanks for taking Coop,” he said, deflecting.   
****  
“I’ll always take him, you know that. Anything I can do to help.” Phil set his pen down and looked up, and oh, god, those kind, honest eyes were going to be the death of him. “And since you didn’t answer my question, and you weren’t home last night, I’m assuming everything isn’t alright. So I’ll say again, if there’s anything I can do…”  
****  
Clint sighed and let his head fall back hard onto the frame of the sofa, eyes pinched closed. It was probably a measure of how hungover he was that it didn’t hurt worse. After a while the pain all ran together.   
****  
“Pretty sure there’s nothing anyone can do for this one,” he said, “especially you.”  
****  
The silence that stretched after his words was uncomfortably long, and Clint realized he’d probably just insulted Phil without even meaning to. That figured. He sighed again.   
****  
“Sorry, not what I meant, I just meant I fucked this one up all on my own, and I’m gonna have to figure out how to unfuck it. If that’s even possible.”  
****  
He cracked one eye and looked up at Phil. Concern and confusion looked back at him in the form of a furrowed brow and a turned down mouth.   
****  
“Is Laura-?”  
****  
“Laura’s okay. Laura’s amazing, actually, which also is less helpful in this case than you might expect. Look,” he rushed on because he realized everything he said was just making this weirder, and he really didn’t need anything to be weirder than it already was, “the thing is, I’ve been most of a fuck up for most of my life. No, seriously, let me do this, I have to get this out somehow or another.”  
****  
Phil closed his mouth and nodded, stopping whatever words he was about to let slip.   
****  
“I can count on one hand the things I’m really proud of in my life.” He started counting off on his fingers to prove his point as he spoke. ”That I somehow managed to get Laura to marry me. And stay married to me, and maybe those two should be separate things, but we’ll call it one for now. Working with you and Nat, all the good we’ve done here. Cooper, even though I think the kid hates me. Getting out of my shithole of a past life and really becoming something.”   
****  
He stopped and smiled softly, holding up his thumb.  
****  
“See, I’ve even still got one left for future accomplishments. Good to have goals, y’know.”  
****  
“Clint-”  
****  
“No, really, I’m getting there, just lemme finish.”  
****  
Phil nodded again.  
****  
“But mostly I fuck things up, or I get by, and you or Nat or Laura help patch things up along the way, and I’m good with that. Because I never thought I’d be the person who had anyone to patch him up, and instead I have three of you. Nat’s like...well, Nat’s the sister I wish I could trade my actual brother in for. She’s family like Barney never was. And Laura...well. One day she’ll wake up and realize she could have had anyone and wonder why she picked the doofus who followed her to the bus for a month like a stalker, but I love her more than anything and I thank anyone who’ll listen that  _ one day _ hasn’t come yet.”  
****  
He took a big, deep breath, because this was it.  
****  
“And then there’s you. You picked me up and dusted me off and saved me from a lifetime as a blunt instrument with no self-preservation and no respect for myself or anyone else. You gave me an anchor when I was,” he flailed his arms, “y’know, flapping in the wind. You put up with my stupid-ass jokes, which I think are only getting worse with sleep-deprivation. My kid likes you better than me and you like him back, and most days I can’t get through the smallest, stupidest thing without wondering what you’d think or say or tell me to do.”  
****  
Phil’s eyes were getting a little wide, but the words were tumbling out faster than Clint could even think them. Which would probably bode poorly here before too long.   
****  
“I love my wife. I love my son. I love my  _ life _ , which isn’t something I ever thought I’d get to say. It’s just…”  
****  
And just like that, the words dried up. Clint gulped.   
****  
“Just what?” Phil barely more than whispered the words.  
****  
Clint shook his head. Suddenly the words wouldn’t come and the lump that had been in his throat the whole time Laura talked the night before was back, and fuck, he was  _ not _ going to have another panic attack.   
****  
Was he?  
****  
Phil stood up and walked over towards the couch, hands up and eyes kind, looking very much like he was approaching a skittish animal.   
****  
“May I?” He gestured to the cushions at Clint’s side.   
****  
Clint nodded, still trying to suck in a full breath. Phil sat and looked at Clint for a moment before settling his hand on Clint’s shoulder.   
****  
“Breathe,” he coaxed, pressing down just a little with his palm. “C’mon, in and out.”  
****  
Clint nodded and concentrated on Phil’s voice and the warmth of his hand, and finally,  _ finally _ he got a breath in. And another, and another, until Phil nodded and let his hand fall back into his own lap. He let Clint collect himself for another minute before he spoke.   
****  
“It’s just  _ what _ ?” he asked, and Clint didn’t let himself think he was hearing hope in the question, because that would be ridiculous.   
****  
He pulled in one more deep breath, then forced himself to meet Phil’s eyes. If he was doing this, he was  _ doing _ this.   
****  
“It’s just...I…” Damn it, why was this so fucking  _ hard _ ? “It’s just I, um. I think I love you, too.”  
****  
Oh, god, there it was. Out there and never coming back, and he could feel blood roaring in his ears and blooming behind the skin on his cheeks, but he wouldn’t look away. The seconds dragged into hours dragged into what Clint was pretty sure were months while he waited for Phil to tell him he was a horrible person, to throw him out of his office, to fire him, to do any of the million things Clint figured he’d have every right to do.   
****  
But Phil just smiled that warm, kind smile. The one he’d been doling out to Clint since that day so long ago when he stood in this same office and stumbled over the words to explain his off-the-books marriage, only maybe a little bigger this time. And then, because the smile wasn’t unthinkable enough, he lifted his hand and ever-so-softly let it slide over Clint’s temple and down his cheek, just a fleeting touch, but Clint couldn’t help but lean into it all the same.   
****  
And as his hand fell back between them, and just as Clint was already missing the warmth of his fingers, he said two words that sparked the kind of warmth in Clint’s chest that he’d been tamping down at every turn.   
****  
“I know.”  
****  
Except…  
****  
“Wait. What?” Suddenly the warmth was in direct conflict with the freaking out, part two. Because if Phil knew, then… “Who’d you talk to? Nat or Laura?”  
****  
Phil just sat there and smiled and shook his head, and none of that was doing anything for the freakout, except who could  _ really _ freak out in the presence of that fucking smile, really?  
****  
“Laura and I talked about Cooper, the Mets, and whether I thought she should ask you to build new pantry shelves or hire someone since you’ve been busy.”  
****  
“I’m not too-”  
****  
“Busy to build shelves, I know. I told her that, and I reminded her of the great temper tantrum from last summer when she didn’t let you install the new windows even though you were on crutches, so I suppose you’d better find a level when you get home. And don’t argue, it was a tantrum.”  
****  
Clint just shrugged. It really had been. He’d stomped his foot so hard he cracked his cast. Not his proudest moment, okay?  
****  
“I haven’t had a conversation with Natasha that wasn’t about shooting someone in three weeks.” Phil shrugged as he went on; his face was a little rueful and Clint figured maybe later he’d tell Nat that Phil missed her. Later. After. “So whatever she knows, I’m not party to it.”  
****  
“Then, um,” Clint ducked his head. “Then how…?”  
****  
Phil was quiet for a minute.   
****  
“I guess,” he started, then stopped and took a deep breath before he started again. “I guess it wasn’t fair to say I  _ knew _ . I...suspected? I know everyone likes to think I’m a monk or a robot or something, but I’ve had relationships. I do remember what it was like to realize someone really cared about me.”  
****  
Clint blinked.

“So yes. I knew. Suspected.” Phil took another deep breath and looked Clint square in the eyes. “ _ Hoped _ .”  
****  
Clint blinked again. Apparently, hearing that Phil wanted him made his body react a little like he had something in his eye. Good to know.   
****  
“How-? Wha-?”  
****  
He really didn’t even know what he was asking, he just felt like this was one of those times where he was supposed to have questions.  
****  
“What next?” Phil asked for him.   
****  
Phil always was better with words. Clint nodded dumbly, and Phil shrugged.   
****  
“I have no idea. I know you care about me. I know I care about you. A lot. Quite a bit more than is professionally appropriate for a handler, or personally appropriate for a guy talking about his best friend, who also has a wife.”  
****  
Clint could feel a blush rising on his cheeks and a smile trying to creep across his face in spite of how absolutely fucking weird this all was. He always was a sucker for a genuine compliment. Too many years not getting one, he figured. Plus: best friend. Phil’d been his for years, besides Nat and Laura, but he wouldn’t ever get over hearing he was Phil’s, too. Phil always seemed like the guy who’d have had friends. Lots of them. Who were less likely to be life-long fuck-ups than Clint Barton.   
****  
And so, he grinned and ducked his head.  
****  
“Laura sent me here,” he mumbled, looking at the ground. “She probably knew what this was before I did.”   
****  
He chanced a look up at Phil and was a little satisfied to see that even Phil was surprised to hear that part.   
****  
“And Nat...um. Nat says families don’t always look the way we think they’re supposed to, and I, uh, I thought—or maybe Laura thought, I dunno, this is all kind of fucking with me—that it was better that we got all this in the open and figure out, um…”  
****  
“What next.” Phil said softly.   
****  
Clint nodded.   
****  
“Is that what this was?” Phil asked. His voice was as steady as it’d ever been on comms, but it was quiet, barely more than a whisper, and that was uncharted territory. “You getting it out in the open so we can figure out how to get past it?”  
****  
Oh, hell no. Clint was shaking his head so violently before Phil even finished that it was a wonder his brain didn’t rattle in his skull. He crossed the distance to stand at Phil’s side, feeling awkward, but just as much like he should have been there all along.   
****  
“I don’t think…” He stopped. This part was hard. It was hard to admit to himself and even harder to stay out loud. “I don’t think I want to get past it. In fact, I  _ know _ I don’t. I know that much, but I don’t know what that means. I don’t...I don’t know what to do, I only know I didn’t come in here to tell you this so we can pretend I never said it to begin with.” He took a deep breath. “You know me. Shoot first…”  
****  
“If that was true, you’d have been out of a job years ago.”  
****  
Phil’s voice was still immovably steady, and Clint couldn’t decide if that was making him more or less nervous. It was true that he hadn’t thought much about what would happen  _ after _ . The words had seemed so big that he couldn’t see past choking on them before he’d walked into Phil’s office. Now that they were out, now that they’d left their bittersweet taste on his tongue, he didn’t know…  
****  
“What does Laura say about all of this, besides that you had to come here and tell me?”  
****  
The corner of Clint’s mouth curved up; of course Phil would worry about Laura, and not as  _ the other guy _ . As their friend— _ her _ friend. Maybe more, even. Maybe.   
****  
“Come to dinner on Sunday and ask her?”   
****  
It wasn’t meant to be a question, but suddenly there it was: the real test of all this. What would Phil do with this  _ whatever _ outside the safety of his office, the comfort of this couch that Clint sat on hundreds of times over the years.   
****  
He must have looked as nervous as he felt, or at least like he needed a little reassuring, because Phil scooted closer, closing the space between their bent knees on the couch and lifted his hand back to smooth over Clint’s cheek, and  _ god, _ was that ever way more intimate than Clint could have imagined such a small gesture to be.   
****  
“I’ll be there,” he said quietly, face so close to Clint’s that it was almost a kiss just by default, but Clint somehow knew that Phil wouldn’t close that last distance just yet. Not until he’d seen Laura, until they’d all talked this through.   
****  
Didn’t stop Clint from  _ wanting _ , though. He sucked in a shuddering breath, then another, and then squared his shoulders and grinned. Phil’s hand fell away from his cheek, but came to rest on his shoulder. He had no intention of trying to brush it off.   
****  
“She said to come early, the Mets are on. And bring the good beer.”  
****  
Phil chuckled. “I’ll believe the first part, but the second part is all you.”  
****  
Clint shrugged.   
****  
“You know us too well,” he joked.   
****  
Phil’s smile went soft around the edges, and he curled his hand around the back of Clint’s neck and pulled him into the briefest of hugs—so quick that Clint barely had the chance to breathe in the scent of him, to revel in the warmth and comfort.   
****  
“I hope to,” Phil whispered against Clint’s temple before he pulled away and stood.   
****  
Clint stayed where he was, looking up into Phil’s face and looking for any clue that they were anything but okay. And Phil, being Phil and being generally awesome at knowing exactly what Clint is looking for at any given time, just stood there and let him look.   
****  
Finally he had to admit he was satisfied, finding nothing on Phil’s face but kindness and a slight blush, and he stood.   
****  
“Figure I’d better head home,” he said.   
****  
Phil nodded.   
****  
“You might stop at the florist on the way home,” he said as he rounded his desk and pulled his chair back out. Clint raised his eyebrows, and Phil smiled. “I’m not sure what flower is symbolic for ‘Honey, I’m sorry I went on a bender and then confessed my love to my best friend/handler/a guy but I still love you and the three of us should talk on Sunday,’ but I think she’s probably earned at least a handful of daisies or something.”  
****  
Clint couldn’t help it, he started laughing. Leave it to Phil to turn this into something irreverent, just to make him feel better.   
****  
“I’ll be sure to tell her that when I give them to her,” he said, still grinning at Phil, who grinned back. He reached for the doorknob, then turned back around. “You might want to brush up on your flowers though.”  
****  
This time it was Phil’s turn to lift his eyebrows, and Clint shrugged and felt his grin grow bigger, because  _ they were going to be okay _ .   
****  
“You probably have to figure out what flower is symbolic for, ‘Hey, I’m sorry I’m not sorry your husband told me he loves me, and I kinda like him too, but I like you and I think we should figure this out, but not until after the Mets game.’”  
****  
Phil nodded, trying to look serious, but Clint could see his shoulders shaking with laughter for just a moment. Then he went still, and that soft smile came back across his face.  
****  
“For the record, I more than kinda like you.”  
****  
Clint felt his own smile go soft and fond and warm. He ducked his head, fighting the flush in his cheeks.   
****  
“I’m really glad,” he said, looking back up, and they both sat there and smiled at each other for a few seconds, which would probably have been really dopey if it wasn’t so fucking  _ perfect _ .   
****  
Footsteps in the hallway finally brought Clint back to where they were. Right. Home.   
****  
“See you Sunday?” he asked as he opened the door, and if his voice was a little hopeful, well, fuck off. It’d been a big day.  
****  
Phil nodded and picked up his pen, poised to go back to work as soon as Clint shut the door, but not taking his eyes away from Clint’s until he was out of sight.   
****  
“Sunday.”  
****  
Clint closed the door and walked out into the hallway with a little more spring in his step than he could remember feeling in a long, long time.   
****  
That was the thing about Phil. He always knew just what to say.  
****  
~*~  
****  
The thing is, yeah, maybe this looks bad at first. Maybe the idea that he fell in love with his boss while he was married to the love of his life—and she is, and she knows it—maybe it looks bad.   
****  
But the thing is, really? It’s not bad at all.   
****  
Phil did come to dinner that first Sunday. He came back on Tuesday, too, and Thursday. And again the next Sunday, and then he stayed with Laura for a few days to help with Coop while Clint got sent to some godforsaken shithole on a mission that he only agreed to because Maria Hill runs a hell of an op, and she wouldn’t let him get dead.   
****  
And when Phil came back for Sunday dinner the next week, he came on Friday and stayed all weekend, and they talked and laughed and cried. It wasn’t easy. It was the hardest fucking thing Clint’s ever done in his life, and he’s done some hard shit.   
****  
But if he looks back now, nearly two years’ worth of Sundays later, when Phil doesn’t come over for Sunday dinner anymore, he just comes home and starts cooking if Laura hasn’t, and he knows it’s all been worth it. The fights and the tears were worth it, and so were the stares and questions.   
****  
Because for every one of those, there’s a soft smile or a kind word. Or a kiss, which Clint at least will say he thinks is better than he ever imagined. There’s Phil’s hand on Laura’s back while she dries dishes, or Laura’s foot sliding between where Clint and Phil have their legs tangled on the couch during the ball game.   
****  
They’re still finding their way, him and his wife and their son and their...Phil. They don’t get everything right, but they’re liberal with ‘I love you’ and they’re forgiving when someone makes a misstep; it’s new to them all.   
****  
So the thing is, yeah, there’s a thing. And it’s flawed and confusing and different.   
****  
And it’s perfect.  
********


End file.
